


Maintaining the Peace

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “So you and Connie,” Fitzy says, after another moment of stunned silence. “Looks like you changed your tune since last season.”“Don’t, Fitzgerald,” Roman says.“Dude you literally sicced rookies on me to find out who my boyfriend was,” Fitzy says. “Youoweme dirty deets.”“There are no dirty deets,” Roman says.“But you want there to be,” Fitzy says.





	

Roman pretty much knew by preseason there wouldn’t be any rookies making the final roster, and he’s unfortunately right. That’s not a bad thing from a roster perspective — they’re a better team than they were last season, not the least because they’ve got three former rookies who’re more experienced this year, aware of what’s expected of them, what to expect themselves — but from a selfish perspective, it sort of blows.

Technically Roman does have one rookie: it’s Holm’s first year in the NHL, if not the pros, and he’s far from fluent in English, which puts him squarely in the category of someone to look out for. Roman tries to make it clear he’s there for him, but he doesn’t really seem to need it. He’s more put together than Roman is, quiet but very observant, and the tiny smattering of Europeans on their North American heavy team fold him in without blinking, which leaves Roman without duties.

Roman dutifully names him Specter anyway because there’s this uncanny feeling where you realize Holm’s been there, but have no idea for how long and when he came, but yeah, as rookies go, Roman’s pretty much unemployed. No Rookie Detectives for him this year, though he guesses it doesn’t really matter, since ‘is Fitzy’s boyfriend bad news?’ has been definitively answered with ‘only if you fight him because there go your teeth’. Roman knocks a knuckle against his implants. Fucking Brouwer. He’s not the only one who’s de-fanged Roman — ha, de-fanged — but he was the most effective at it besides that puck that took out a good half dozen — and demolished his poor jaw — in one dizzyingly painful punch.  


It’s kind of inevitable that, with no new guys to take care of, Roman goes back to the old group. Yeah, they’re a whole year older and wiser and all that, but they’re still kids — even Harry, who’s closer in age to Roman than Connie, for all he acts more like a petulant teenager than Connie does — and Roman can’t help wanting to keep an eye out for them.

 _Yeah, you’re ‘keeping an eye out’_ , Roman hears, in a voice that sounds disturbingly like Fitzy’s. Fucking Fitzy. And fucking _Roman_ , because the Fitzy voice in his head — and the Fitzy voice attached to actual Fitzy — isn’t wrong, and proves itself pretty…comprehensively…when Roman’s just innocently trying to work out. 

Look, dudes working out is not sexy. It’s just not. Roman gets it in theory and everything, the whole hot and sweaty thing and the noises you could definitely assume are similar in a different context, the show of strength, the flex of muscle. He gets it. He likes all of those things, those are all good things for sure.

Except not during workouts because workouts fucking suck. It’s an unfortunate fact that generally, you want to be a professional athlete? Yeah you don’t just hang up your skates when you get off the ice. Or, you do, he guesses, but then you change into sneakers and go hit the gym. Roman knows some guys who like the working out aspect of their job, who actually look forward to it. Those guys are jerks.

Roman doesn’t hate every part of working out; it’s mostly just cardio shit that makes him go through the silent ‘you’re an NHL player, buck the fuck up’ mantra. He likes lifting, especially the fact he’s good enough at it that he’s gotten boggled looks from some of the guys, which is a nice ego boost. He likes practice, which doesn’t have the same drag to it, probably because the second he’s laced into his skates he’s a happy man, and that’s been the case since he was a literal toddler. They’ve got video of his father teaching him at an LA Kings family skate way back in the day, and he looks like the happiest kid alive, shrieking like a harpy when he makes it across the arm’s length to land in his táta’s arms, his brother laughing at him in the background before doing a little spin like the showoff he always was.

But man, cardio fucking sucks. All of it, but especially running.

“Pick up the pace, chubby,” Fitzy says cheerfully, not even out of breath. He’s one of the guys who likes cardio. Fuck him. Roman tries to get some time in when it won’t be busy, and instead he’s stuck running beside this cheerful motherfucker.

Roman would tell him to fuck off, but he can see that the resistance is about to increase, and for that, he’s going to need all the breath he can get. He settles for ignoring him, mostly because it saves air, but also because he’s pretty sure it’ll bug Fitzy more than any response he can give.

Connie and Harry must come in while Roman’s got his eyes glued to the TV to distract himself from how fucking unfun running is, because it’s not until he’s in cool down mode that he notices them, Connie looking intent as he adds plate after plate to the bar. Finally seeming satisfied, he settles on the weight bench, but after like maybe two presses he shakes his head.

“Maybe fifteen more?” Connie asks.

“Don’t fucking kill yourself, Connie,” Roman calls over. Telling Fitzy to fuck off is a waste of breath, but making sure his (former) rookie doesn’t tear a muscle is worth the air, and Roman can’t see how much is on the bar from here, but he can tell it’s a fuckton more than Connie was pressing last year, more than most of the guys would take on.

“I did more than this over the summer,” Connie says. “I mean, that was with a trainer, and he decided how much I could handle, but I know I can handle more than this.”

“Great, now you’ve started it,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Watch him add fifty.”

“That’d be stupid,” Connie says. “I could handle it, but I’d just tire myself out before I finished a set.”

“Look at the teenager showing you how to take advice without getting your nose bent out of shape,” Roman says. “Better listen good, Chalmers.”

“I’m not a teenager,” Connie says.

“Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you’re not a teenager, Connie,” Roman says. He gets the delightful beep that means he’s free, and he gets off the treadmill, hating that weird wobbly feeling that always happens for a moment when your feet hit solid, stationary floor.

“I’m twenty, though,” Connie says. 

“Yeah, Novák,” Harry says. “He’s a big boy now.”

Fitzy’s snort is way more dirty than any snort should be.

“Want me to spot you?” Roman asks. “I’m less likely to drop it on you. And probably also going to drop less insults.”

Fitzy brays out a laugh, and Harry glares at him.

“He’s not lifting _that_ much,” Harry says. “Stop flattering him.”

He says nothing about dropping insults, which is good, because otherwise Roman thinks he’d get laughed out of the room. Maybe Connie finds them motivating. They’ve started to roll off him since he started rooming with Harry. Roman knows it’s just Harry’s way, that he doesn’t mean anything by them, but he’s a little surprised Connie seems to get that too, especially after he’d get so hurt by them at the start of last season. Kid is growing up, Harry’s shit about ‘big boy’ aside, and Roman’s sidetracked thoughts about…shut up, Roman.

“Harry said he would,” Connie says. “But thanks.”

“No worries,” Roman says. “Should probably do some cycling after a water break before Brad gets on my ass about avoiding it, so.”

Fitzy gives him this incredulous, mocking look, and Roman continues to maturely ignore him. 

Roman’s halfway through his Gatorade when Connie’s finally decided the weight’s up to his standards. It still looks like too much — it’d be decently easy for Roman but even with all the muscle Connie gained over the offseason Roman’s still got a few pounds on him and a fuckton more experience. Thing is, it looks easy for Connie too, at least the first few reps. Not _easy_ easy — _easy_ easy is fucking useless if you want to actually build muscle — but within his comfort zone. He’s mostly quiet until he’s reaching the end of the set, sweat breaking out on his forehead, muscles gone tight beneath the cling of his shirt, face flushed when he lets out an involuntary grunt on the last rep, Harry helping him get it back on the bar.

“Two minute break,” Harry says, and Connie nods. He sits up, tugging the hem of his shirt up to wipe his forehead with it, which exposes a long expanse of tight, defined muscle above the low sling of his basketball shorts.

“Damn Connie you cut,” Fitzy whistles.

“Sexual harassment,” Roman says mechanically, since Findlay isn’t around to say it.

“Not sexual harassment to call a cut dude cut,” Fitzy says. “I’m not flirting, I’m congratulating.”

Connie’s flushed, but it’s hard to tell if he’s blushing or if it’s just exertion. He’s probably blushing, knowing him, but he just smiles, sweet and shy. "Thanks Fitzy," he says. "I worked really hard."

“I’m gonna—” Roman says. “Bike.”

“Yeah I bet you’re sticking around,” Fitzy says, low and dirty, and Roman feels himself go red. He hops on the bike, thankfully far enough away from Fitzy that he can’t throw any more shade without Connie hearing. Fitzy loves embarrassing the shit out of all of them, but Roman’s pretty sure he’d draw the line there, especially considering Connie’s crush on Roman. If he even still has that crush. Roman doesn’t know. Roman doesn’t _want_ to know. Thinking about it makes him feel this weird mix of hope and guilt, because it’s not like he can act on it. Twenty or not, Connie _is_ a kid, as squeaky clean as if he came directly out of the womb to the North Stars, and Roman can’t fuck with that. He shouldn’t even be _looking_ at that, but here he is. Great integrity, Roman. Your mother would be so proud.

Well, actually his mother would probably be happy that for once he was interested in someone who could be defined as nice without some heavy ass sarcasm accompanying the word, but whatever. It’s never happening, so it’s completely irrelevant.

Harry’s surprisingly free of barbs now, at least any Roman can hear, just silently spots Connie until he’s through his sets, which gives Roman some hope that maybe that roommate thing is actually working out. He asked Connie again after their first ‘real’ game in Dallas, and Connie insisted it was going fine, but honestly Roman didn’t trust him. It isn’t like Connie to lie, but it’s totally like him to understate things for the sake of peace. And it is peaceful in here right now, Fitzy bobbing his head along to whatever terrible music he’s got piping through his headphones, Connie wiping the weight bench off then switching off to spot Harry, who looks kind of grumpy as he’s taking plate after plate off the bar, embarrassed for no damn reason. 

Connie notices Harry’s look too. “It’s how much you do compared to your size,” he says. “I’m a lot bigger than you.” Connie is possibly the only person in the world who could get the words ‘I’m a lot bigger than you’ out without any trace of pride or mockery. What a kid.

“Don’t do me any fucking favors, Connelly,” Harry snaps. 

And there goes the peace. Roman should’ve known it was just a matter of time.

Fitzy plucks an ear bud out. “Hey, bet I can bench more than you,” he chirps. “If we’re talking about size.”  


Roman suddenly has a suspicion that Fitzy just had those damn things in to give them all a false sense of safety before he pounced at the worst possible moment.

“Time for training, guys,” Roman says. “Not a dumbass competition.” Coach is going to be fucking furious if someone pulls something trying to show off, which is exactly where this is headed.

Connie gives him a thankful smile, and Roman smiles back automatically, can’t help himself.

“Bring it shortstack,” Harry snaps.

“Dude, you don’t even reach Connie’s collarbone, I wouldn’t be calling anyone else short right now,” Fitzy says. “Roman, wanna spot me?” 

“No,” Roman says. “Because we’re not doing this.”

“Connie can do both then,” Fitzy says. “Right Sweetheart?”

Connie gives him a pleading look, and Roman sighs and gets off the bike, taking his time wiping the seat off.

“No fucking way you just pile it on,” Roman says, coming over. “You start small and you build up, I am _not_ going to be responsible for someone slipping a damn disc.”

“You’re no fun,” Fitzy says, and Harry scowls at Roman in apparent agreement, but they listen at least, and it’s a small consolation that everyone is uninjured when Fitzy’s crowing his victory right in Harry’s mutinous face. Well, physically uninjured. Roman’s not so sure about Harry’s pride.

“I’m going to muzzle you,” Roman says when Fitzy shows no signs of shutting up.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that today,” Fitzy says with a smirk. 

Roman fucking _bets_. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life, Fitzgerald,” Roman says.

“Who said I was talking about my sex life?” Fitzy says. He’s terrible at appearing innocent. “Who’s sexually harassing _now_ , Novák?”

“Still you,” Roman says. “Always you.”

“You’re the fastest of all of us,” Roman can hear Connie saying. “Size always sacrifices spee—”

“Fuck off, Connelly,” Harry snaps, walking out of the room, and Connie looks so dejected that despite his better judgment, Roman walks over and lays a hand on his back, where his shirt’s sticking to the line of his spine.

“I was just trying to—” Connie says.

“I know, Sweetheart,” Roman interrupts.

“ _Someone_ ’s a sore loser,” Fitzy says.

“You didn’t have to rub it in so much,” Connie says, as sharp as Roman’s ever heard him, and follows Harry out.

“Whoa,” Fitzy says. “The hell just happened?”

Roman just shrugs, equally taken aback. 

“So you and Connie,” Fitzy says, after another moment of stunned silence. “Looks like you changed your tune since last season.”

“Don’t, Fitzgerald,” Roman says.

“Dude you literally sicced rookies on me to find out who my boyfriend was,” Fitzy says. “You _owe_ me dirty deets.”

“There are no dirty deets,” Roman says.

“But you want there to be,” Fitzy says.

“It’s not happening,” Roman says.

“Dude would drop to his knees in a second flat if you—” Fitzy says.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Roman snaps.

“Just saying,” Fitzy says. “As someone who was basically in his position—” he breaks off to snicker.

“It’s not happening,” Roman says. “Okay? So drop it.”

“Fine,” Fitzy says, then after barely a single breath, “But you wanna get in there so—”

Turns out that Fitzy gets gratifyingly quiet when he’s in a headlock, but he also doesn’t believe in fair play, and he bites. Roman is the opposite of surprised to find out that last thing, and starting to see how that muzzle could be necessary.

“Nah, Mike likes when I bite,” Fitzy says when Roman says as much, breathless and yet still somehow chirpily cheerful.

“Please stop telling me about your sex life,” Roman says. 

“Never,” Fitzy says. “This is the price you pay for detective work. With great knowledge comes great responsibility.”

“You’re a mean person,” Roman says. Fitzy just smiles sunnily in response.


End file.
